World Behind My Wall
by CatzRuleMe
Summary: A Tokio Hotel fanfic. When Bill saves an autistic girl from a brutal attack, he whisks her to the safety of the tour bus. She won't talk to him, though, and time is of the essence. Can she learn to open up to the band and make it home safe?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**~Kylee's POV~**

My most memorable experience began with a brutal attack.

Okay, let me back up a bit. I may be autistic, but I know when I have to be more specific. My name is Kylee Schwartz, and I was diagnosed with autism when I was seven years of age—seven years, three months and twenty-seven days to be precise. The weather was slightly cloudy, threatening rain, and the temperature was wandering between seventy-two and seventy-four degrees. My therapist was Miss Sanchez, who had a mess of curly red hair and a wrinkle-withered face. She told my mom that I was autistic, to which my mom replied with nothing more than a dumbfounded glare.

My mother didn't know what to do with me after that. She provided my three meals a day and a place to sleep, but I never felt like she was actually there—it always seemed as if my food and bed just appeared like a rabbit from a magician's hat. We never talked much either; we could have been sitting right next to each other on the couch, but it always felt as if we were miles apart.

But if there was one thing my mom did notice, it was my love of music; there was always something about the graceful sound of people singing as well as the lyrics that reached out to me, enveloping me in a soothing way that Mom's hugs could only dream of accomplishing. My mom enjoyed playing music on her stereo system, and she knew I loved it all the same when I began to join her—I even managed to sing along to the lyrics after having heard the songs just once. After noticing how content music made me, she got me an iPod Touch for Christmas.

I was twelve years, eight months and ten days old when I fell in love with Tokio Hotel. My mom got me one of their albums when she saw extraordinarily positive reviews for it online. I was hooked on the German rock band after one listen—their music was so inspiring, and very different from the repetitive pop music crap that people somehow manage to like these days.

By the time I turned sixteen, I had all their albums: _Zimmer 483, Schrei, Scream, Humanoid _(both the English and German versions)_, _and_ Best Of_ (again, both versions). I memorized every song from start to finish, and I felt like I was ready for my first Tokio Hotel concert. My mother quickly agreed and got me a ticket to one of their shows while they were on tour in the states.

Mom dropped me off near the stadium, where a bunch of overexcited-looking fangirls flocked to see their idols onstage. It was twilight, but the temperature hovered between seventy-nine and eighty-three degrees. The minute my mother's white BMW drove out of sight, I rushed into the massive building with my screeching comrades.

As four young men ran onstage and the concert commenced, the girls that surrounded me were screaming louder than I thought possible with their arms and cameras in the air. Each screeching fan, each explosion of a guitar jam, each whack on the drums pummeled my eardrums brutally. But I was somehow able to tolerate it despite my usual discomfort around loud noises.

I gazed longingly up at the lead singer as he delivered each angelic note through the microphone. There was something about him that was different—he was so graceful and full of energy, and somehow I felt drawn to him. My heart fluttered with a strange mixture of panic and excitement when he turned towards me, our gazes locking for half a second. Something about that brief connection managed to change my entire being, and an intense sensation came alive inside of me—something like a wildfire. It felt as if the singer had managed to transfer his passionate energy over to me. A smile stretched slowly across my face, and I eventually raised my arms and screamed with the rest of the crowd.

When the concert ended, the four men disappeared backstage and the once earsplitting crowd had begun to thin out. I started toward the exit, but I was overcome with an unusual sensation. My body stared to feel heavy, like every step I took caused me to gain thirty pounds. There was a distinct burning in my chest, and I kept glancing back at the now empty stage. I knew I wasn't ready to go home and leave my favorite band forever, but Mom would be waiting for me.

As I stood outside the building and waited for my mother to arrive, my insides felt like they were melting into a black ooze. There were excited girls all around me, but I had never felt so alone in my life. My body was enveloped in a sea of others, but my mind was trapped in an empty void in space. My emotions were growing dark, and I began to regret ever going to the concert.

I stared at the road unmoving as I waited for my mom to come, but her white BMW never showed up. Anxiety pricked at the blackness in my core and only made me feel worse each minute as girls disappeared and I was left standing firmly on the sidewalk.

When I got tired of waiting, I withdrew the cell phone from my pocket. Opening it up, I scrolled through my contacts until I found my mom's name and called the number. I laid the phone against my ear and listened impatiently to the buzz on the other side. One buzz sounded, then another, then another until finally: "Hello, this is Donna Schwartz. I can't come to the phone right now; please leave a message."

I slapped my phone shut and shoved it back in my pocket. I sighed in frustration as the last of the fangirls disappeared from the premises and left me standing in a barren wasteland that was once overcrowded and alive with a thousand screams. A light breeze blew, making some nearby trees shiver. The sky was blacking out as nearby lampposts switched on and bathed the parking lot in pools of pale orange. Not a sound was heard, not a body was seen. And as always, the pure emptiness of my surroundings made my imagination run wild.

Images flashed before my eyes, drowning out the world around me and lifting me to another realm visible only to myself. But I quickly discovered that only one image swam around my mind—that brief but memorial vision of when the singer looked at me. I had seen his face in various photos, but in person his gaze was beyond real. His golden brown eyes dazzled like ambers and pierced my core in a way that calmed my being, as if he were secretly letting me know that everything would be alright—and all in a half-second time span.

In my daze, my legs began carrying me back toward the building; it was better than standing unmoving like a pole in the middle of the nothingness. But I didn't go inside the building—it was just as deserted in there as it was outside. Instead I rounded the corner, curious as to what was behind it. Halfway around, though, my path was blocked by a huge wall of chain link fence. Somewhere on the other side of the barrier, I saw two lights gleam like sinister eyes in the dark of night. Just as quickly, the monster's growl rippled through the air, and I realized that it was a vehicle starting up.

"You're not getting back there."

I squeaked in surprise and whirled around to see the silhouette of a burly man stumbling toward me. When he stepped under a nearby lamppost, the light unveiled him as a man in his late thirties with unruly dark hair and a five o'clock shadow. He wore street clothes spotted with scarlet splotches, and there was a deep gash in his forehead just above his left eyebrow. My shoulders slumped in relief when I saw that he wasn't a security guard, but he still looked dangerous—he reminded me of a crazy serial killer out of an action movie.

"That fence is pretty high," the man pointed out. "There's no way you'll scale it." He smirked suspiciously, and his eyes punctured my core like poison darts.

The hotness of panic welled inside of me, and my bones seemed to rattle in my skin. I felt this sensation whenever I met someone new that I didn't trust, even if they came off as being really friendly. But this was serious; I knew for a fact that this man—whoever he was—was going to hurt me.

Without warning, the bloody man pounced and knocked me to the ground like a wild cat claiming its prey. My head collided with the chain link fence and slid down its metal web painfully before landing on the hard concrete ground. With a dizzy and aching head, my burning anxiety exploded into a full-on panic attack; I screamed and flailed with every bit of strength I had while my predator struggled to pin me down. I felt hotter than fire as adrenaline rushed to the rescue, but it was no match for its opponent. I was soon held beyond ability to move, and all I could do was scream as a rock-hard fist began whacking me mercilessly in the head.

Amongst my earsplitting cries for help, an unfamiliar voice rang through the night. "HEY! GET AWAY FROM HER!"

I heard the fence rattle and a thump against the concrete soon followed. The man that had wrestled me to the ground was flung off my body, and I caught a quick glimpse of a brawl between a brawny and skinny man before everything around me faded to black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**~Bill's POV~**

Another successful night ended and the four of us trotted offstage in high spirits. The crowd roared behind us as we began packing the instruments and shipping them onto the tour bus. But I couldn't shake this feeling about a particular girl in the crowd—amongst the overexcited, screaming fans who waved their hands in the air, there was one who stood quietly and still as a statue. When I glanced at her emerald eyes, a chill ran through me; they looked cold and untouched. But they appeared to warm up once they met mine, and only then did she smile and cheer with the other fangirls around her.

"Bill! Can you help me with these guitars?"

The suddenness of Tom's voice boomed through the air and shook me out of my trance. "Oh, sure."

I gently packed away one of my twin brother's many guitars in one of many black cases. As I absentmindedly reached for another one, I felt a stinging pain in my hand as Tom slapped it. "Hey! Keep your grubby paws off!"

I snapped my head up and realized I had reached for Old Bessie, my brother's most prized possession. It was a guitar that a fan had handmade for him; the instrument was white and sported the Tokio Hotel logo in black on the base as well as the actual words "Tokio Hotel" on the neck. How my twin came up with the nickname for this artifact is beyond me, but he never lets anyone else touch it—not even me.

Realizing what I almost did, I ducked away in fright. "Oh, sorry."

Tom's eyes changed from annoyed to concerned. "Are you okay, Bill? You seem a bit jumpy tonight."

I pressed my lips together for a second before answering. "Well…there was this girl in the audience…"

My brother's eyes shifted again, from concerned to teasing. "Ooh, is she cute?"

I snarled. "No way! She must have been, like, sixteen. Didn't you see her? She had wavy blond hair, and she was completely quiet almost the entire concert."

Tom's eyes wandered in thought. "I think I know who you're talking about. She was just staring at us blankly—did she not like our performance?"

"Maybe she was shy," I suggested. "The second I looked at her, her face immediately lit up."

"But what does she have to do with you?" Tom asked suddenly.

"I-I don't know," I replied. "When I looked into her eyes…something wasn't right. You know that cold, dead, unloved look that homeless people give you?"

Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Never mind," I said quickly, hauling two guitar cases toward the bus with my twin at my heels. "She just seems…different somehow."

Tom shrugged, unsure of what to think, and I continued to help him load the instruments onto the bus in silence. The mood had slowed down since rocking out onstage, and everyone was obviously tired.

"Hey Bill, catch!"

I was pelted in the back of the head with something soft, and I looked down to see that it was my stuffed cat that I had taken as a good luck charm. I bent it over and picked it up, then turned behind me to confront the man who threw it at me.

"Georg, you're a lousy shot!"

"Not my fault you can't catch the broad side of a barn!" Georg laughed.

I snickered. "That doesn't even make sense!"

"Boys, quit playing around!" our manager called from the doorway outside. "Let's finish loading the bus before we engage in horseplay!"

"Sorry, David," Georg and I called in unison before finishing off the last of the instruments.

Once every last piece of equipment made it on the tour bus, the driver brought the massive vehicle roaring to life. We were just about to take off, but an unsettling sound made my skin crawl. I didn't know if it was just my imagination, but I could have sworn I heard screaming.

"Does anyone else hear that?" I asked, straining my ears to hear out the closed door.

"Hear what?" Tom asked. Behind him, Georg and Gustav were staring at me like I was crazy.

"I swear I hear screaming," I explained.

Without another word, I flung open the bus door and ran out before my band mates could argue. I think I heard David yell at me to get back here, but it was faint against the shrill screech rippling through the air. There was definitely something wrong, and somehow I felt drawn to it, as if those screams were specifically begging me for help.

I sprinted across the parking lot and came to the chain link fence around the corner of the building. My surroundings were nearly black as dusk fell deeper over the land, but those bloodcurdling shrieks led me to the scene. With a light nearby, I could just make out the pale outline of two people fighting. A large man had a smaller person pinned under him, and he was beating them mercilessly in the head. Only when I got a closer look at the victim did I notice eerily familiar, wavy blond hair.

"HEY! GET AWAY FROM HER!" I screamed as I used every bit of my strength to scale the fence and jump onto the other side. A surging pain crawled up my ankles from the impact, but I didn't let it distract me. I tackled the man and somehow managed to throw him off of the poor soul he was attacking. After a brief struggle, I managed to thrust my fist square into his nose. His head flew backward and hit the brick outside of the building, and he flopped limply onto the concrete ground.

Panting and damp with a cold sweat, I made my way back to the victim. I gasped in shock when I realized that she was the same girl I had seen at the concert. Kneeling beside her body, I ran my fingers gently over her now bloody face. Hopefully the worst she'd get would be a concussion, but I couldn't tell up front.

"Bill!"

I snapped my head up to see David trotting towards me. Carefully, I scooped the unconscious teenager into my arms and hoisted her up. "David! Open the gate now!"

"What happened?" the manager asked, glaring dumbfounded at the girl in my arms.

"I'll explain later," I promised. "Right now just let me through so I can take this girl into the bus."

David seemed apprehensive, but he unlocked the nearby gate and I quickly strolled through. We made our way back to the tour bus, and needless to say, we were given a lot of flabbergasted looks when I carried in a bleeding teen girl and set her down on a nearby couch.

"What…what just happened?" Gustav finally spoke up.

"Some drunk guy attacked this girl," I explained. "I think we should get her to a hospital."

"Do we have time?" Georg asked. "Our next concert is tomorrow and it's a hundred or so miles from here."

"We have to make time," I insisted. "I don't know the extent of her injuries."

Everyone quickly agreed, and soon the tour bus was soaring down the road toward the nearest hospital.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**~Kylee's POV~**

My senses returned as an irritating beeping noise pounded my eardrums and the smell of hand sanitizer burned my nostrils. I felt a sting surging in my wrist, and I could have sworn I heard people talking.

"Yes, but will she be alright?" a man's voice buzzed in my ears.

"She should be fine," a female voice answered. "She had a mild concussion, but nothing major."

"So when she wakes up, she'll be okay to go?" I didn't know if it was just my imagination, but the man's voice sounded like it had an accent to it.

"Hopefully," the woman answered. "Her MRI's came back alright, and nothing appears to be broken."

My fingers twitched, and my eyes fluttered open. Once my fuzzy surroundings came into focus, I saw a woman dressed as a nurse conversing with a rather lanky man. My heart jumped at the sight of the towering yet skinny body, and I immediately remembered my savior from the bum who attacked me after the concert.

My gaze locked with that of the nurse, whose eyes immediately grew wide and approached me. "She's awake! How do you feel, honey?"

I looked around in a daze, but soon realized that I was in a hospital room. The sting in my wrist came from an IV, and I lay in a surprisingly soft bed.

"Do you feel alright?" the nurse persisted.

I glanced back at the woman, managing a weak nod.

She turned back to the man. "Will she talk to me?"

"Well like I said, I really don't know her," the man replied in his heavenly accent. "But she was certainly screaming up a storm last night."

The nurse chuckled as she released the IV from its grip on me, inducing relief upon my once pain-stricken wrist. "Well, she seems okay as far as the tests go; I think it's safe for her to check out. But if she's acting strangely or feels any pain, bring her back, okay?"

"Will do," the man replied.

When I finally had the nerve to look the male in the eye, my heart exploded into a frenzy of rapid pounding. It was the lead singer of Tokio Hotel, the angel behind the microphone that I had seen just a few hours ago. But his slender body also resembled that of the mysterious individual who rescued me—was he that person, too? His dazzling amber eyes met mine, and a polite smile tugged at his lips.

As the man started towards the door, he glanced back at me. "Come on." His smile extended almost playfully, as if he were teasing me.

With my heart in my mouth, I wriggled out of the bed and followed the singer through the hallway and out into the lobby. After checking out, we walked outside where I was blinded by the harsh sunlight. The agonizingly bright flash sent a surge of pain through my already sore head, and my muscles tightened with pending rage as my senses spiraled out of control. I found myself whimpering in protest as my senses overheated and caused a fire in my belly.

"Are…are you okay?" I heard the man ask.

The fire within me grew ever hotter; I knew I had to put it out. My arm muscles tightened till they hurt, begging to hit something and hit it hard.

"What's wrong?" the man asked, reaching for my arms.

The minute his long hands wrapped my wrists in warmth, my heart jumped at the electric current that flowed between our skin. My tense arms fell limp, and even the pain in my head had lifted. The fire in my stomach had melted to a warm and fuzzy sensation and replaced my distressed whimpering with a quiet sigh. The singer's touch had somehow plagued my body with this new feeling that I never knew even existed. Normally when people touched me, panic as hot as a wildfire would be unleashed throughout my being. The only exception to this was my mother, whose physical contact was as numb and dead as if I were touching a statue. Never before had the human hand managed to flush out my stress and cleanse me with sweet tranquility.

When I opened my eyes, it didn't seem nearly as bright outside. I glanced up at the singer and noticed that his shimmering brown eyes were tainted with concern. "Please tell me what's wrong."

All I could do was stare at the man and shake my head. When he realized that I had somehow calmed down, his expression loosened from worried to confused. "Um…okay. I guess we should keep going to the bus?"

I nodded in agreement, so the singer led me around a corner where an enormous bus gleamed in the sunlight. He yanked the door open and I followed him inside, where I was taken aback by the sheer size of the vehicle. There was a room to the left which was lined with couches overlooking a flatscreen TV, and there was a kitchen on the other side with a fridge and everything.

The man suddenly called out something that I didn't understand—it sounded like he was speaking in a different language. I heard a mixture of voices call out in the same gibberish, and I quickly realized that there were people sprawled across the couches in the room with the TV. Three giant men rose from the sofa at our arrival and glanced curiously at me.

"Hi there," greeted a man with black cornrows and slightly oversized clothes. "What's your name?"

Four pairs of eyes suddenly stared me down, inducing an unbearable amount of pressure on me. My insides started to heat up again, and I sidestepped behind the singer for cover.

Sensing my anxiety, he turned around and knelt in front of me. "Hey, it's okay."

But the amount of unfamiliar people surrounding me was overwhelming. My spine was tingling, and my legs felt like jelly. I backed away slowly, my breathing quickening as I started to whimper.

"Are you alright?" one of the other men asked, concern shining in his eyes from behind his glasses.

The man with the cornrows mumbled something in the gibberish language to the singer that sounded like a question, and the singer replied with more gibberish. After a while I started to recognize this weird dialect from their songs—they must have been speaking in German.

Eventually, the pressure was just too much. My nerves were on fire, and my heart was racing too fast. My survival instincts took over; before I knew it I had turned on my numb legs and bolted out of the room.

"Hey, get back here!" I heard the singer yell.

I had no idea where I was going, but after scrambling through the kitchen and a hallway, I came to a series of doors. Without thinking about it, I thrust open one door and slammed it shut behind me—the room in front of me appeared to be a bedroom, complete with a bed, a few stray articles of clothing, and an assortment of toys lined on a bookshelf.

I heard footsteps pounding outside, growing louder as they came hastily closer. Blood was roaring in my ears; there was nowhere to hide. With no other option, I sprinted to the bed and leapt onto it, the springs in the mattress squeaking in protest. Once I was curled among the sheets, I heard the door whine as it opened.

"Hey, what's wrong?" the singer's voice rang in my ears.

The only response I gave was a soft moan. The next noise I picked up was a series of faint thumps as the man walked across the carpet and approached me carefully. Before I knew it, I felt three delicate fingers graze my scarred forehead and brush a few strands of wavy blond hair out of my face. My heart swelled happily and my body melted in relaxation at the touch.

"Please talk to me," the singer pleaded. "I need to know what's wrong."

The poor man; he still didn't understand—I don't talk. I couldn't remember the last time I actually formed words with my mouth, if ever. My only means of communication with others has always been through a variety of noises; he already knows my nervous whimpering as well as my panicked screaming. Hopefully, if he and his band mates turn out to be nice folk, he might get to hear some of my happy sounds for once.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**~Bill's POV~**

"Hi there," Tom greeted the girl in English with a warm smile, peering behind me at the girl I brought into the tour bus. "What's your name?"

We all raised our eyebrows when instead of answering my brother, the girl dove behind me like a scared child seeking refuge behind her mother.

I had never seen a teenage girl act the way she acted, and it worried me. Kneeling beside her and staring deep into her emerald eyes, I whispered: "Hey, it's okay."

My attempts to comfort the girl appeared to only scare her more, as she began whimpering and backing up.

"Are you alright?" Gustav asked her in English.

"Bill, what's her problem?" Tom asked me.

"I don't know," I admitted. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."

Without warning, the girl bolted out of the room. Jumping to a stand, I yelled in English: "Hey! Get back here!"

But the young teen had already disappeared down the hall past the kitchen, and I heard a door slam.

"That had better not be _my_ room she's hiding out in," Georg mumbled.

"I know," I agreed. "She could die in there!"

My band mates chuckled in response, and I set off after the teenager. In the bedroom hallway, I realized that the only shut door was my own. Cautiously, I opened the door and peered inside. "Hey, what's wrong?"

The girl lay unmoving in my bed, her wavy blond locks sprawled all around her.

"Hey, what's wrong?" I asked.

When the only response I got was a muffled moan, I approached her slowly. Once beside her, I brushed my fingers over her damaged face, pulling a few stray locks of her golden blond hair back behind her ear. "Please talk to me. I need to know what's wrong."

The teen fell silent, but slowly closed her eyes in relaxation. She did that every time I touched her—if only I could see what was going on in her mind. But more importantly, I had to figure out where she came from and send her home before David threw a fit.

"Who do you live with?" I asked. "Your mom? Your dad?"

The girl stayed still and silent, and at first I wondered if she heard me. I repeated: "Who do you live with? Can you contact them?"

Her sapphire eyes stayed locked in place, but she slowly reached behind her and plunged her hand into her back pocket. She fished out a shiny grey object that I soon recognized as a cell phone, and she held it up. At first I couldn't figure out what she was doing—we spent several seconds in a still and awkward silence before she loosened her grip and let the phone slip out of her fingers. The plastic gadget bounced off my bed and tumbled to the floor in front of my feet. I bent over and picked it up to hand it back to its owner, but she had already curled into a tight ball atop my mattress. I began to panic at the sudden series of unusual behaviors this girl performed in front of me, but eventually I managed to piece it together.

"You…want me to call your parents?" I guessed.

The teen didn't reply, and I began to get antsy.

"Listen," I barked. "I can't figure out what you're thinking unless you tell me. I can't read your mind."

The girl grunted as if getting hit in the gut, and proceeded to sniffle repeatedly. My body started to tingle when I realized I must have made her cry. My legs felt numb and ready to drop as I backed away toward the door. "I'm sorry. I just haven't met a girl as…different as you. I'll have a look at your phone, try to find out as much about you as I can. We'll work from there, okay?"

The teenager emitted a noise that sounded like a contented sigh, and I took it as a yes.

"Alright," I confirmed. "I'll be over in the kitchen if you need me." And with that, I stepped out of my room and shut the door behind me. I made my way through the hallway and stopped at the kitchen table, where my band mates were staring at me dumbfounded.

"So what happened?" Tom asked once I sat at the table.

I sighed in exasperation. "I don't know; she won't talk to me." I glanced down at the cell phone in my hand and held it up. "All she did was give me her phone."

"Well, let's try to work from that," Georg suggested as he sat in the chair beside me. "Check her contact list."

I flipped open the phone and turned it on. After I found her contact list, I rolled through it looking for promising numbers—the one labeled "Mom" looked promising. I selected the number and pressed the cell phone to my ear, the buzz emanating from the other end.

The phone I was calling rang once, twice, three times, four times until I finally heard a voice: "Hello, this is Donna Schwartz. I can't come to the phone right now; please leave a message." When I heard a beep, I sulked in disappointment and slapped the cell phone shut.

"No luck?" Tom guessed.

"No," I sighed. "Her mom didn't pick up, and I don't know if I can trust any of the other numbers on the list."

"Try to find her name," Gustav suggested as he walked into the kitchen. "If we know her name, maybe we can find her on the internet."

A fiery pain blasted through my stomach at the sound of Gustav's suggestion. I hated the internet—I could never visit a website without the fear that someone has made some nasty comment about me or my band; too often I had done a Google search and somehow found a message calling me gay or a girl or saying that I suck and I should die.

Tom must have sensed my discomfort; he looked at me and lay a hand on my shoulder. "We'll just try to find out if the girl has a Facebook or something. You don't have to look with us."

I pressed my lips together and opened the phone back up. "Alright, but how am I supposed to find her name?"

Georg leaned closer to look at the cell phone. "Does she have any recorded messages left on the phone? They might mention her name somewhere."

Georg's suggestion sounded promising. I scoured the main menu until I found an option titled _Messages_ and opened it up. I selected a random message and brought the phone back to my ear.

"Hi, Kylee. This is Miss Sanchez, your therapist. This is just to remind you that your session for this Thursday has been cancelled and rescheduled for next Tuesday. Thanks, bye."

I returned to the list of messages and selected another one, just for confirmation.

"Hey Kylee, it's Mom. I'm just calling to tell you that I'm stuck in horrible traffic and might be running late. If I'm not back by dinnertime, help yourself to something in the fridge. Okay, bye."

I slapped the phone shut. "I guess her name's Kylee, then."

"Kylee?" my band mates echoed.

"According to the messages on the phone," I replied.

Gustav clapped his hands together. "Alright, we know who she is. Now let's try and figure out where she came from. I'll get my laptop."

"I'll catch up with you guys later," I said quickly, trying to evade having to look at the internet. "I should probably check on Kylee and return her phone."

The others nodded in agreement, so I got up from the chair and started toward the bedroom hallway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**~Kylee's POV~**

"Who do you live with? Your mom? Your dad?"

Man, this guy was starting to get on my nerves. When will he learn that I can't talk?

"Who do you live with?" he persisted. "Can you contact them?"

The first thought that came to mind was my cell phone. It didn't have much, but it might give him some information about me. I reached into my back pocket and withdrew my phone, holding it out to the man behind me. When he didn't take it, I opened my fingers and dropped the cell phone on the floor. I winced at the sharp thudding noises that shot through my ears as my phone ricocheted off the edge of the bed and landed on the carpet.

I could feel a wave of confusion and uncertainty emanating from the singer as he bent over to pick up my cell phone. I could tell he was getting frustrated with me, and I instinctively curled into a ball to brace myself for whatever was about to happen.

"You…want me to call your parents?" the man guessed.

No, I didn't want him to call my parents! I would have called my mom myself if I could have reached her, and my dad left when I was three so I couldn't reach him anyway. What I wanted was for him to find out as much as he could about me so that I could get home safely, but how was I supposed to explain that to the singer?

"Listen, I can't figure out what you're thinking unless you tell me! I can't read your mind!" His voice boomed behind me like a series of small but frightening explosions. He was definitely angry with me; I could feel his fiery vibes rattling my nerves. I grunted uncomfortably at the pain welling in my stomach, and I could feel my eyes growing hot.

_No, _I thought._ Not gonna cry…not gonna cry…_

Despite my effort to contain my emotions, they seeped through anyway. Tears of lava escaped my eyes and rolled down my face while I sniffled a few times. The man must have noticed, because his raging vibes had subsided.

"I'm sorry," he apologized in a soothing voice. "I just haven't met a girl as…different as you. I'll have a look at your phone, try to find out as much about you as I can. We'll work from there, okay?"

I blew out a quiet sigh, relieved that he finally figured it out.

"Alright," he continued. "I'll be over in the kitchen if you need me."

I heard the door click open and shut, and I was alone. My heart began to ache as the singer's words played over and over in my head.

_I just haven't met a girl as…different as you._

More tears spilled out of my sore eyes the more I heard it. I hated when people called me different; I could hear in their voice that they were using it as a polite term for weird. I knew I was strange, and I hated it. I hated being autistic and I hated being treated like a beast. Why couldn't people understand what I go through day after day? How do they not see that I live a life surrounded by aliens?

Trying to push the sickening thoughts from my mind, I sniffled and rolled over to survey the tiny bookshelf filled with toys. In the top cubby sat foot-tall Woody, Jesse, and Buzz Lightyear dolls from the Toy Story movie. The middle was lined with a large assortment of teddy bears in every size and color imaginable. The bottom level portrayed a line of neatly organized RC planes, cars, and tanks with their respective controllers.

On the very top of the small toy shelf was an orange cat plushy, its beautifully soft-looking fur calling out to me. My hands were tingling to run through that silky fake fuzz; I just had to touch it. When I crawled off the bed and picked up the life-size stuffed animal, my senses were immediately overwhelmed with the delightful texture of the fur. A blissful sensation rushed through me with each fiber of artificial hair that caressed my skin—it was like touching a heavenly cloud. After a while, I buried my face in the plush cat's backside, drinking in every last bit of bliss that the softness of the toy induced within me.

When I finally pulled away from the cat just far enough to have a good look at the toy, I immediately fell in love with it. My heart swelled at the sight of its adorable golden glassy eyes, its tiny pink plastic nose, and its tiny stitched-on smile. People throughout my childhood—including my mom—have constantly told me that stuffed animals are just toys, but I never believed them. Sure, they never move or make noise, but somehow I always find some glimmer of life deep inside of them that most people just seem to overlook.

Smiling, I retreated to the bed with the fuzzy cat in my arms. I lay down on the mattress and kissed the stuffed animal repeatedly on the forehead, sighing in delight at the softness against my lips.

At some point, I heard footsteps pounding outside the bedroom. I sat up, still hugging the cat, and watched as the singer appeared from behind the door. He approached me and held out a small, grey piece of plastic.

"Here's your phone back, Kylee," he said, smiling.

I squeaked in surprise and glanced up at his eyes when he said my name. Slowly, I pulled one arm off the cat and reached out to retrieve my cell phone and slip it in my pocket. I couldn't help but feel a sense of pleasure that my tactic worked and that he at least knew how to address me.

The slender man sat beside me on the bed, making one side of the mattress sink beneath me. He looked down at me and chuckled, pointing to the plush cat in my grasp and saying: "I see you've found my toy cat. That's my good luck charm that I take with me to concerts during the tour. His name is Katze—that's the German word for cat."

I smiled and snuggled the cat again. _Katze… _I thought. _I like it._

But then something occurred to me. The singer knew my name; shouldn't I know his? I looked over and gazed deep into his amber eyes, holding my arm out and pointing to him. At first he was a bit confused, staring down at his chest where I pointed. I grunted in mild frustration and gently poked him in the collarbone a few times. The man raised an eyebrow at me.

"What?" he asked.

I bit my lip and began to whimper, and the singer's face became screwed with panic.

"I-I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I don't understand…"

I groaned, falling backwards onto the mattress; I had to try and come up with a way to get my point across. After a few moments of thinking, I made sure the man was looking at me and pointed at Katze in my embrace.

"K-Katze…" he hesitated.

Immediately I pointed at him.

"Katze belongs to me…" he started.

My frustration was about to boil over. I moaned angrily and tried again, pointing back at Katze.

"Okay, okay," the singer stuttered in a panicked tone. "That cat's name is Katze…"

I pointed to him.

"And…and my name…"

I quickly nodded and sat up, excited that we were getting somewhere.

"Oh, my name!" he exclaimed. "My name is Bill."

I locked my gaze with his, a quiet giggle escaping my throat.

The singer nodded, his lips pulling into a warm smile. "Bill," he repeated as he tapped his chest with his finger.

I squealed victoriously and bounced lightly on the bed, hugging Katze to my chest. I was probably getting too worked up about learning the name of a stranger, but somehow it felt like a gateway to a new world where my adventure had just begun.


End file.
